


Too Fast

by B_H_Castle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel is a dick, Human Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Love, M/M, Married Couple, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, No Smut, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Season/Series 01, Sick Character, Sort Of, some blood/gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_H_Castle/pseuds/B_H_Castle
Summary: Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a horrible idea for what would happen after the Apocalypse-that-didn't-happen, and a good friend of mine forced me to write it. So here I am, kinda praying thay this account is so small that no one notices. The chapters are short and there will be a good bit of fluff to start, but it doesn't stay well and good for long. I am so sorry.
> 
> But for now, enjoy the fluff.

They'd done it. Earth was safe, Heaven and Hell were robbed of their inevitable war, and surprisingly ineffective punishments for treason were dealt out. Now all that was left was the Antichrist, a not-so-evil wonder child running about his yard in lower Tadfield who, come his 9th year in school, would likely wish he'd let the world burn if only to get out of Pre-calculus. There were other reminders of what had happened, of course. Spikes in doomsday preppers, strange cults of Atlantis gaining some minor prominence and the occasional tweet from some poor sap who seemed to get the short end of the reset stick and was still dealing with the consequences all these months later. Overall though, everything was fine. People had mostly accepted the events of the End Times as mass delirium, or simply refused to acknowledge it in the wonderfully ignorant way that only humans could. The world was normal again. Peaceful, well, and good.

But that didn't matter so much as one other small, insignificant result of the world not quite ending. At least not to them.

Currently, a certain Principality was reading in the low light of his shop, reclining into the downy cushions of his loveseat as the scent of fresh cocoa drifted from the table beside him. He enjoyed reading. Literature, in his opinion, was one of mankind's greatest achievements. This time, however, he read for two. 

The afternoon sun glittered across the obsidian scales of a monstrous snake that coiled around him and the back of the seat, warming them both as he recited words to it. Aziraphale didn't particularly enjoy science fiction, in fact he found it rather silly. He'd much prefer a good drama or historical text, something with more real world substance. But the serpent, despite his vehement denial, had come to enjoy the genre almost as much as he did minor inconveniences. Well, Aziraphale liked reading, and loved Crowley, so having both at the same time was perfectly fine for him. Even if it meant the Demon got to pick the book.

He could feel roped cords of muscle and scale slump into the sentient equivalent of playdoh as Crowley relaxed. He seemed to hang off every one of Aziraphale's words nowadays, even more so than before. Unblinking golden eyes stared into the middle distance, as they often did, drinking in tales of wonder and chaos among the stars. It was rather endearing. With a soft smile, Aziraphale reached up to pet the snake on his shoulder while he read. 

Peaceful and good indeed.


	2. To the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
More fluff, adorable clandestine park meetings, and a very important shiny object.

"But why?" Crowley asked as they strolled through St. James' park. It was a lovely evening, unusually clear for the time of year. A soft breeze blew through the trees, the sky was painted a vibrant dusky orange and the ducks swam lazily in the water beside them, the only beings within sight that ever seemed to pay the odd pair any mind. 

In the time that had passed since what the humans were now calling the Apoca-nope, Aziraphale and Crowley had been spending much more time in public together. Their former employers seemed more than content with leaving them to their own devices anyway, so why not take advantage? Much of that time was spent in one of four places, the park, or course, being one of them. Old habits die hard. Especially when they've had a century or two to settle.

"I already told you, it's pointless," Crowley said. "We are literally the only ones who could work for each other. Marriage is for people who think their partner might leave them for someone who isn't as obviously afraid of commitment."

"Yes, but it still has meaning, Crowley," Aziraphale quipped, glancing over at the demon. "Besides, it could be fun. It isn't like we've had a chance to celebrate like this before. It could be a small affair, just a couple friends-"

"Friends? What friends, angel? We're the only friends we've got."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "That's not true. There's...well there's Anathema and her partner. Adam, his family, and...what about Mister Shadwell and Miss Tracy?"

"Right," Crowley drawled. "So, just a recap, you want to invite the woman who hit my car-"

"You hit her!"

"Did not! Anyway, her, her tech challenged, wet blanket of a boyfriend, who we've barely spoken to by the way, the twelve year old ex-Antichrist, his fake-turned-legitimate family, a man who has been conning us out of money for decades and your temporary host to our nonexistent wedding?"

"Well...when you put it like that…," Aziraphale said softly, pausing to look off towards the ducks. "I just thought it would be a nice gesture, is all. You don't have to be rude about it."

"Oh, come on. I'm just being realistic," Crowley said. He sidled up next to Aziraphale, hands pushed deep into his pockets. "Doesn't mean I like you any less."

"I know," Aziraphale sighed. "I just thought you'd...I don't know. Want to take the next step."

"We're older than anything on this planet, angel, I don't think steps apply to us."

"I suppose." One of the mallards in the congregating mass of water fowl quacked its displeasure at the distinct lack of bread and Aziraphale smiled as the call spread through the rest of the group. He reached into one of his pockets and tossed a handful of pieces out to them.

Wrapped in his little world of thoughts and birds, he didn't notice when Crowley's gaze shifted to him. He didn't see the seemingly ever present frown lines soften, or the coy little smirk that hovered at the corner of the demon's lips. He did, however, hear it when Crowley began rummaging through the satchel resting against his hip. "What are you doing?"

"Getting something," Crowley muttered as he searched. "I was going to wait until we got back, but this bag is getting heavy." He had been carrying the bag since he'd picked Aziraphale up for lunch, that in and of itself being strange for Crowley. Whenever the Angel had asked him why, he simply shrugged and dismissed the question with a "Tell you later," or "You'll see." 

Eventually Crowley pulled out a large, reddish-brown, leather bound tome and held it out to Aziraphale rather unceremoniously. "Here. Peace offering?"

It was heavy, but not as heavy as Aziraphale anticipated. The edges and spine were gilded with ornate, dulled golden scrolling to match the edges of its pages. It felt as old as it looked. "What is this?" Aziraphale asked as he shot Crowley a glance. 

"You'll have to open it to see."

He huffed and turned his attention back to the book. "But we can't open it here, there are too many variables. It could be damaged, and-"

"Just open it, angel."

Aziraphale glared at Crowley before clearing his throat and flipping to the first few pages. The spine creaked as he cradled it in his arms, the delightful smell of old paper and ink drifting on the breeze. It brought a smile to his face and he stood still for a moment, eyes closed in reverence. When the moment had passed, he opened his eyes and hovered his fingers over the page as he read. As best he could, anyway. Aziraphale never had a full understanding of Latin, but he knew enough to get by. As his eyes skimmed the beautiful scripted text they widened. "Crowley, is this...This is a Gutenberg! There are only fifty of these in the world! How did you get this?"

"I have my ways," Crowley drawled with a smirk. "And I don't really have any use for it. Like it?"

"Do I like it, of course I like it! Oh thank you, dear boy, I'll have to add it to my collection immed-" Aziraphale paused as he flipped, having reached the middle of the tome and found a rather conflicting sight. The pages were glued together and hollowed out in the center, and had it not been for what lay nestled in the hole, he might have strangled the Demon. 

Crowley reached over and plucked the small black box from the tome. "I still think it's stupid," he said, resting his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. "But you're right. It's something new."

"I...Crowley this is lovely, but you didn't have to dismember a book for it!"

Crowley blinked. "What?"

"Well look at it! This is one of the rarest biblical prints in the world and you've rendered it completely worthless!"

"Oh, can you quit griping about the book for one second."

"Quit griping- Quit griping about the book! Crowley! You've ruined a priceless antique for the sake of a grand gesture!" Aziraphale cried. It frightened some of the ducks.

Crowley crossed his arms "And?"

"You can't just...do that! These things have value, real, historical value!"

"You can just miracle it back, you know."

"That's not the point! It's the principle of the thing!"

"We can argue about principles later, Aziraphale. Do you want the ring or not?"

Aziraphale glared and hugged the book close to his chest as if to protect it from the world. Or from certain Demons that clearly lacked respect for the written word. "Yes, rather," he sighed. "I'm sorry, do continue."

Crowley huffed and popped the box open.

It was gorgeous, resting atop a bed of red velvet. Silver and gold wings met in the center of the ring, wrapping around a small diamond.

"So," Crowley said. His cheeks were pink as the Angel looked up at him, still clutching the hollowed book. "I think I'm supposed to ask if you'll marry me."

Aziraphale grinned and, with all of the love he could muster, he pulled Crowley down by his horrible silver tie for a kiss. "Of course, Crowley," he murmured. "Of course I will."

"Right...ah...good," Crowley stuttered, his cheeks now completely rosy and his pupils, though hard to see through his glasses, blown wide. "Just thought I'd check." He cleared his throat as he straightened his tie and took Aziraphale's hand. Slowly, as though it might disappear, he slipped the ring onto Aziraphale's finger and a small smile found its way onto his lips. "Looks better than I thought it would."

"It does suit me. You have good taste, my dear boy."

"Of course I do."

Aziraphale chuckled as he inspected the ring. "So," he said after a moment. "There's...no book? You didn't actually deface a priceless Gutenberg...did you?"

Crowley rolled his eyes and pulled a second, identical tome from his bag. "I may not read, angel," he said, trading it for the one Aziraphale held. "But I'm not an idiot."

Aziraphale's eyes lit up once more and, after a quick inspection, he hugged the book close to his chest with another grin. 

"Spoiled," Crowley scoffed, looping his arm around the Angel's shoulders. 

"I know. Thank you, Crowley."

"Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long time coming for them, okay? They deserve this, adorable idiots. Also, you cannot tell me that Crowley wouldn't pull a prank like this to propose.


	3. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
The boys have a rather rude awakening. The end of fluff for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this hurts just as much as it is enjoyable to write.

It was quiet. A soft rain tapped against the window of the darkened flat while thunder rolled in the distance. Aziraphale was resting, the silk of Crowley's sheets and pajamas cool against his skin as the Demon hissed softly in his sleep. Although he much preferred the warmth of his shop, he had to admit that Crowley's bed was more comfortable than most of the furniture he owned. Considering how much Crowley coveted sleep, however, he wouldn't expect any less.

He always looked so peaceful when he slept, limp and curled around the Angel like a child with his beloved teddy bear. Aziraphale watched his chest rise and fall and the shifting of the wisps of unstyled red hair as he breathed. He could feel every movement, grounding him to this one, endless moment over and over again.

Crowley huffed a deep breath and shifted, his hand brushing over Aziraphale's stomach as he settled back into slumber. His ring was cold as it rested on Aziraphale's side.

The Angel shivered and gently took Crowley's hand in his. Smiling, he turned the golden wing on Crowley's finger, watching as the small diamonds caught what little light there was in the room. He'd know the Demon for millennia, loved him for centuries and been his spouse for over a year, so his excitement felt a little silly. But as he looked down at the loveable, sleeping idiot on his shoulder, he couldn't help it. His chest felt tight and his cheeks hurt from smiling. Slowly, so as not to wake him, Aziraphale entwined his fingers with Crowley's and leaned over to bury his face in the Demon's hair. He smelled of fresh earth and smoke and everything Aziraphale had come to love.

"Hmmwha'?" Crowley yawned, pulling Aziraphale closer.

"It's nothing, dear. Go back to sleep."

"You sure?"

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head. "Quite."

" 'kay," Crowley mumbled, resting his head on Aziraphale's stomach.

"I love you."

"Shut up."

Aziraphale smiled into Crowley's hair and closed his eyes. He listened as the Demon's breath slowed, as his muscles slacked against him and the bed, wishing that this moment would last for an eternity. Eventually, the Angel drifted off as well. He didn't sleep often. Really he only felt the need when he was with Crowley. 

He didn't hear the door swing open, or the rush of soft footsteps into the room. The last thing he heard, immediately after being yanked from the bed, was Crowley's protests dissolve into screams.


	4. I'll Fall for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***SOME MENTION OF BLOOD/VIOLENCE*** I know it's in the tags, but I figured I'd add it here too. Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point. The unfortunate beginnings of Aziraphale's new existence. Also, Gabriel's a dick. But we knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so. So very sorry. Also, updates are going to be random and I also apologize for that. I'm in the process of getting ready for grad school, so my life is a but of a mess right now. Just trying to get as much on here before everything goes pear shaped.

"Oh good, you're awake!"

Aziraphale could barely make out the voice through the muddled mess that was his aching head as he came back to consciousness. But he knew it well. Dripping with false charm and cheerfulness just obvious enough to be obnoxious, it could only belong to the Angelic King of Bureaucracy himself. It made Aziraphale's blood run cold. He wrestled his traitorous eyelids open to confirm what he already feared, wincing against the Heavenly light.

His wrists and ankles were bound to his seat, more tightly that necessary in his opinion, and as he looked down he could see drops of dried blood crusted on his bare chest and pants. He could feel the chill from the smooth floor creeping up his legs, and it didn't help the growing sense of doom that had taken root in the pit of his stomach. Everything ached. Absolutely everything.

"I'm glad you got up first, actually," the insufferable Archangel said, bringing Aziraphale's attention back to center. "It makes this much more interesting. But this will be quick. I don't want your boyfriend around here much longer." Gabriel shuddered. "It'll take forever to clear out the brimstone. Do you know how much cleaning it took last time? We had Principalities in here with Holy Water and soap for weeks!"

Aziraphale knew better than to speak. After six thousand years, one tends to learn the quirks and traits of their coworkers. Besides, it was hard enough to keep his eyes focused. He snuck a quick glance to his right and left, meeting the gazes of Sandelphon and Michael respectively. Neither looked very amused.

Gabriel stepped back, facing Heaven's grandiose view as he clasped his hands in front of him. "That was a neat little trick you pulled, by the way. Wouldn't say I'm impressed, but it definitely bought you time. I should have known that you wouldn't have the balls to act that way." He turned and flashed one of his emotionless grins. "But lying to Heaven, Aziraphale? Really? Did you actually think you and some stupid, low level Demon had enough combined brainpower to pull one over on us?"

"Perhaps," Aziraphale muttered, seemingly as surprised by the response as Gabriel was. "But I suppose we underestimated you. Slightly."

Violet eyes flashed and that perfect smile tightened just a little more. "Mm. Uriel?" He called. "I think we're ready for him."

Aziraphale turned his head, grimacing against the twinge of discomfort as a door opened behind him. There was a pause before it opened again. He heard the burdened steps of who he could only assume was Uriel as they dragged something towards them, a metallic rasping drowning out soft groans of tired pain until they were closer. As Crowley was hauled into view the Principality's breath stopped. 

He'd clearly put up more of a fight than Aziraphale. His right eye was ringed with purple and blue, skin split just under the socket, and a river of dried blood caked his cheek. His hair was limp, dripping with sweat. Uriel threw him on the ground at Aziraphale's feet and he groaned again. He reeked of burned flesh and sulfur and Aziraphale could see the thin streams of smoke rising from where his ankles, wrists and neck were bound tightly in golden shackles.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream, rip the binds from Crowley's quivering form and wring Gabriel's neck with them. Despite everything, he still could not believe that the Good could be so cruel. But he couldn't. He was so close, but he couldn't move, couldn't come to Crowley's aid like the Demon had for him so many times before. It took everything Aziraphale had not to cry out at the injustice of it all and even still he could feel the tears begin to flow.

"You like it?" Gabriel asked. For the first time in millennia, Aziraphale could see legitimate glee in the Archangel's expression and it was almost as terrifying as Crowley's state. "Blessed cuffs. Michael thought of them, and I think they'll come in handy later. But we had to test them first, so here we are! They make a smell, though," he said, wrinkling his nose. "We'll have to work on that."

"Smells...fine to me, you pompous prick," Crowley hissed weakly from the floor.

Aziraphale stared at him, not exactly sure where else to look. "Crowley, dear, I wouldn't-"

Uriel pressed a heel into his chest and the Demon coughed. "Shut it."

"Right!" Gabriel crowed, clapping his hands together. "So, since things went so well last time, I thought that this time we could take care of both of you by ourselves. I mean, considering how disorganized Hell is, it's no wonder you got away. They shouldn't mind."

Crowley spat at Gabriel's feet.

"Can you not?" Gabriel sighed. "That's gross."

"Bite me."

"Oh, don't worry, what we have in mind is much better." The Archangel gestured to the Angels at Aziraphale's sides and he his chair moved forward, past Crowley and Uriel and towards the windows. "You know, originally," Gabriel began, walking beside Aziraphale's chair as he spoke. "I was just planning on burning you again. Simple, right? Just sweep away the ashes and voila! No more Aziraphale! But then I got to thinking and I thought incineration might be a little too merciful. After all, you did defy Heaven twice and marry an actual Demon." He gagged and looked down his nose at Aziraphale. "I don't see why."

His chair stopped just in front of the window, giving Aziraphale a full view of the sweeping skyline below. The city twinkled in the night, cars the size of ants darted around in the streets below as birds wove their way between the taller buildings. 

Gabriel sighed. "Hellfire is too much of a hassle to bring in here anyway, it stains the roof. I did realize a couple of things though. One, neither Heaven nor Hell want you. You're a liability. Two, you, for some God forsaken reason, actually love that...thing." he hooked a finger back towards Crowley. Aziraphale's seat turned as Gabriel spoke, facing the Demon and leaning against the window now. 

Crowley had pulled himself to his knees, tears mixing with the blood on his face. He tried to jerk forward, but Uriel held him back with a firm hand.

"So," Gabriel said, grinning down at Aziraphale. "Why not make your punishment double?" 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but before he could utter a single word there was a snap and then the window holding his chair up was gone. He could faintly hear Crowley scream as he fell, the forms of the Angels and Heaven rapidly giving way to a blur of stars and clouds and wind, then sparks and fire and snowy feathers burning until finally a crack. An impact. Then silence.


	5. Until my Dying Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Crowley's pov for the Fall, and the beginning of his new life. Gabriel is a dick part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be fluff soon, just have to get through all of the pain and punishment first.

Crowley watched Aziraphale Fall, heard his pleas and cries for help as they dissipated into the wind. Instinctively, he attempted to rush forward, his shackles releasing another bout of sulfurous smoke. This couldn't be it, he wouldn't let Aziraphale suffer like he had. He didn't realize he was screaming until Uriel clocked him in the temple. 

"Well there goes half our problem," Gabriel said, dusting his hands off each other. "Sandalphon, remind me to have someone go down and check on him in a day or so. Can't have him discorperating yet."

Sandalphon smiled and his golden teeth reflected the room's Heavenly glow. "Of course, Sir."

"Now. What to do with you." Gabriel folded his hands together and tapped the tip of his nose, his footsteps echoing ash he approached. "It's too bad we can't just drown you. That'd be too easy."

"I'd like to see you try," Crowley snarled, glaring up at the Archangel with every once if hatred he could summon. Some small part of him hoped Gabriel could feel it, but he didn't seem to care.

"Hm...oh! I've got an idea! Tell me, how long have you had this…" he gestured vaguely down at Crowley. "Body? Long time? You haven't discorporated recently, have you?"

Crowly just glared.

"Because these bodies are designed to mimic humanity's. Can't have the Divine running around in their real bodies anymore. Turns out the humans get scared, and there's too much paperwork involved there. But anyway, let's say you haven't discorperated in a couple centuries." Gabriel grinned down at him. "That's a lot of sin and vice for one puny, human body."

"Can you get to the point already? I'm tired of your voice."

"I'm sure you are. How long do you think you'd last, hm? Without that Demonic soul of yours keeping everything together. How long do you think it would take for all those bad habits to catch up to you?"

"...you can't do that. There's no way you could make a Celestial soul mortal."

Gabriel scrunched his nose at him. "We can certainly try. And tell you what, if it doesn't work, we'll just douse you with Holy Water. It's a win win!"

Crowley sneered and tried to stand.

"Well, not for you. Uriel?"

There was a crack, followed quickly by another bolt of pain and suddenly the Demon was once again well acquainted with the floor.

He began to drift back into unconsciousness as Gabriel said "This might actually be fun!"


	6. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***SOME GORE/INJURY***  
In the tags, but I figured I'd say it here too. I mean, the boy did just Fall.
> 
> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.
> 
> Well. Aziraphale has landed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooboy this hurt. This hurt a lot.

It came in flashes. Aziraphale was awake, that much he knew. But after he hit the ground his consciousness flipped from the material world to one made of searing, white hot agony. The sky was clear and moonless above him, the stars twinkling with an ignorant glee as the wind summoned a violent shiver from his chest. His ears were ringing, his body was a broken ruin and he felt things piercing through his back. Whether they were his bones, the chair, or the trees he'd apparently fallen onto, he couldn't be sure. He l didn't even know where he was, where outside the city his cursed flight had taken him. All he knew was that he didn't.

Another burst of blinding pain.

He was standing now, leaning heavily on a branch soaked in blood. Was it his? It had to be. He peered through gore and ash coated eyelashes as the landscape. A crater, a quarter mile long, maybe more, stretched out before him. Toppled trees and the bodies of a few unfortunate woodland creatures smoldered and littered the space, all leaking with smoke that filled the air with the acrid stench of rotten egg. Aziraphale went to take a step and yelped. He felt things move in ways they weren't supposed to as he looked down to find a piece of the chair he'd been tied to piercing through the center of his foot. Grimacing, he grabbed ahold of it and pulled.

White fire filled his vision once more.

This time Aziraphale was on his hands and knees, on the edge of the crater. He didn't know how he got there. He didn't care. It hurt too much to. Somewhere in the back of his head he wondered how he hadn't discorperated yet, and came to the conclusion that it was only by some cruel, sadistic Miracle that his physical body was even intact. As it was, it felt as though he could only move by sheer force of will. Something draped over his back like a soaked rug and, although he had a good idea what it was, he was too afraid to look. He'd seen enough smoking feathers on the way down.

Somewhere in the distance a siren cut through the deafening silence, followed by the sound of helicopter blades.

Azirafale needed to go. He inched forward.

The world went white again.

And again.

And again.

The pain came with each beat of Aziraphale's slow, struggling heart, bringing with it a new wave of agony and sorrow so deep he swore he could feel it resonating with his true form. Each time he was thrust back into reality he was in a different place among the trees. He was going somewhere, it was close. He just couldn't think where. Every step, every breath, every thought felt as though it might be his last. He just had to keep moving.


	7. Necessary Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.
> 
> Aziraphale finds help and it may be just a little more than he asked for. Some of the Humans finally make their entrance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took longer, I'm getting ready to move for PT school and I needed some time to actually prepare. Thank you for your patience! Hope you like it!
> 
> Also, Anathema is bae, and no one can convince me otherwise.

At some ungodly hour in the morning, something that could possibly pass as a knock thumped from the front door of Anathema Device's cottage. Being someone well aware of her surroundings she was an unfortunately light sleeper, so she jolted upright at the noise while Newton Pulsifer simply rolled over with a drowsy, unbothered mutter. His soft snores brought a smile to her face.

It had been a rough night for sleep from the start. Both of them had settled down late when the sky outside suddenly shone brightly through Anathema's curtains. Thunder rolled, although there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and off in the distance the dim sound of snapping trees cut through the quiet of night. Newt had said it was probably just a meteor or something, that they'd find out more in the morning. But Anathema, she wasn't convinced. Something felt off about the whole thing, unsettling in the way walking past the open mouth of a dark cave was. After all they had survived one Apocalypse. What was to stop a second try? Despite her better judgment, however, she'd crawled into bed for an uneasy night's rest.

Another thump sounded from downstairs and she hissed under her breath, turning to peer through her window at the yard below. 

Her gate was wide open, a trail of something dark leading all the way to the form slumped against her front wall. In the low lamp light she could see it's ragged breaths and broken limbs, distorted enough to flip her stomach just a little bit. Something that might have been crimson continued to drip from the person's bowed head and they looked like they were surrounded by...molted grey feathers?

Anathema frowned. The person seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. It was too dark. Snagging her glasses from the bedside table, she slipped out of bed to go investigate.

"Anathema?" Newton mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he turned over to look at her. "It's late."

"I know," she murmured. "I'm just going to check on something really quick. Go back to sleep."

"What are you going to check on?"

"Well, there's someone at the door, and-"

Newt frowned as he sat up. "There's someone at the door? But it...it has to be like 3 o'clock in the morning."

"Which is more of a reason to see what they want. Stay here. I'll call if I need help."

"Fine. But be careful," Newt grumbled. "There's a lot of crazy people roaming around the woods."

"I was destined to stop the apocalypse from birth and I have lunches with the former Greater Beast and his friends." Anathema patted Newt on the cheek. "I think I can handle some drunken weirdo."

"If you say so."

She tugged her robe tighter and hurried downstairs. As she got closer to the door, she could hear the person's labored breathing and the occasional grunt of pain. "Hello?" She called. "Who's there? Do you need help?"

"Anathema, my dear," the voice answered weakly. "Good, I've found the right place. Could you open the door please? I've.. found myself in a bit of a predicament."

"...Aziraphale?" She frowned, pulling the door open slowly. When she saw how bruised and beaten he was up close, and the two large wings drooping like wet cloth over the ground as he sat against the wall, she paled. "Oh my God."

Aziraphale winced. "Well, that's an unfortunate sensation. Let's not bring Her into this, just...can you help me in?"

"Yes, of course, hang on," she said, kneeling down to help him up. "Can you stand?"

"I…I'm not sure. I could try."

"All right, on three. One, two,..." Anathema said, grimacing as she helped Aziraphale to his feet. The wings didn't make things any easier.

After Satan was disowned by Adam and things had calmed down, Anathema had attempted to follow up with strange men who had, originally, insisted on killing the boy. Some time later she'd even began to consider them friends. She enjoyed the theological and spiritual debates with Aziraphale especially. It didn't take much to piece together their true nature of course, between the argument with their apparent bosses, the story Aziraphale began to tell and the blatantly obvious color schemes. She had just wanted to hear it from them. But both of them had dodged her questions for months, insisting on their mortality and mundane nature even when she explained to them that there was conceivable way a human person's aura was as large and convoluted as theirs were. All she got out of them was Aziraphale's real name, and even that seemed like an unintentional slip by their wedding officiant more than anything. 

Never in the year or so after that she'd come to know Aziraphale and Crowley had Anathema ever had concrete, undeniable evidence of her suspicions. Until now.

She helped Aziraphale into a seat, trying not to pay attention to how his ribs shifted unnaturally as he breathed. He looked awful, covered from head to toe in dirt, soot and blood. His torso was littered in lacerations and angry, bubbling burns, the worst of them centered around his two, slowly molting wings. They hung low on his back as if they might fall off at any moment, and they reeked so strongly of rotten egg that Anathema's eyes watered. "Okay, what happened?" She said, already looking for medical supplies.

"It's...rather an unpleasant story," Aziraphale grunted, letting his head fall against the seat as his eyes closed. "And a long one. I'm not sure you'd enjoy it and, frankly, I'm not sure that I want to tell it."

"Try me." She looked up at Aziraphale's sigh. "Well, something big obviously happened, I felt it earlier. I don't know if that was you or something else, but either way I'd like to know something."

"It's not that simple, my dear."

"It never is. But I need to know if I'm going to help you, Aziraphale. You can't just try and lie to me for a year, which you're terrible at by the way, and then show up at my door in the middle of the night, looking like…" she gestured at him. "This! I deserve the truth, I deserve the story. You invited me to your freaking wedding! That means you must have some trust in me. Right?"

Aziraphale ran his hands down his face and his shoulders popped as he did. "We invited quite a few people to our wedding, Anathema. And although you were likely the most competent of those in attendance, I-" he froze for a moment.

"What?"

"Crowley," he said softly. He took a sharp breath as he sat up. "They still had him when I...I need to find him, I can't leave him alone, Lord knows what they'll do to him-"

Anathema hurried over as Aziraphale doubled over in a fit of violent coughs, placing her supplies on the table and settling him back into the seat. "We'll find him," she said. "I promise we will. But I need to know what happened, what we're up against. And you need to rest."

"I can't," Aziraphale said when he recovered, soft and pleading as his eyes welled up. "The longer I wait, the worse it will be for him. I can't leave him alone."

"And you can't help him like this," Anathema said, quiet and stern. "Take tonight, fill me in on the details. We'll see what we can do tomorrow, okay?"

Aziraphale looked up at her and, for the first time since he'd come inside, Anathema could see the pain behind his now steel grey eyes. "...you're right," he sighed, sinking back into his chair. "I just don't know what to do."

"Well, we can start by patching you up," Anathema said, taking a cloth from the bowl of warm water and soap on the table. "This is going to sting."

"Trust me, my dear," he said dryly. "It won't even come close to this."

Anathema nodded and began cleaning some of the wounds. The blood came away darker that it should have and she quickly realized that she'd be needing more soap and water very soon. "So. You're an angel."

Aziraphale chuckled bitterly. "Until a few hours ago, I could say I was with the utmost confidence. Now...I'm not so sure."

"How can you not be sure?"

"Well, I suppose it depends on how you differentiate between an Angel who has Fallen and one who hasn't," he said bitterly. He hissed as Anathema pulled a thorn from his arm.

"Sorry...wait, fallen or Fallen?" Anathema asked, glancing up at him.

"The latter it seems. Gabriel thought it best to isolate me, apparently, and what better way than to strip me of my divinity?" Aziraphale's voice grew colder as he spoke and he glared up at the sky with far more anger than Anathema would have thought possible. "A Fallen Angel without a cause, and with an eternity on Earth to look forward to."

"Isn't that what was happening anyway? Seems like you and Crowley had already drawn your line in the sand."

"Quite. But now I'm here, with...this. and Crowley is nowhere to be seen. I can't feel him, I can't contact him…" he fell silent for a long moment. "We only had a year. All of creation, and we were happy for one, single year...I could truly be alone now."

Anathema bit her lip and kept focusing on cleaning. After all, what could a mortal say to console a grieving Angel? They were quiet for a long time while she cleaned and refilled her water bowl, eventually getting to the point where she could begin applying bandages, when a familiar voice called down.

"Is everything okay down there?" Newt said. The telltale shuffling of feet towards the stairs prompted Aziraphale to glance over at the young woman. "Is that Mister Fell I hear?"

"Shit," Anathema hissed. She'd hoped that her boyfriend had fallen asleep.

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "Ah. Yes. I'm sorry, didn't mean to intrude so late."

"It's fine, babe, I've got it," Anathema called. "Just...talking. I'll be up in a few." 

The stairs began to creak as Newt made his way down. "Well, it's a little late to be talking. But I guess I could put a kettle o-Holy shit!"

"Right, um, so. don't be alarmed," Aziraphale said, raising his hands in as placating a gesture as he could. "This is all just a rather unfortunate misunderstand-"

The young man's face was bloodless as he stood at the foot of the stairs, seemingly unable to peel his eyes from Aziraphale. "There's so much blood! Y-you have a hole in your foot! And are those wings?"

Aziraphale sighed as his head hung low. "I really would have rather not had to do this," he grumbled, snapping his fingers.

Anathema watched as Newt froze, the shock and terror melting into blank neutrality.

"...At least that still works." Aziraphale glanced over at Anathema, grimacing at her glare. "Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I? Not all people are as intuitive and accepting as you."

"I guess things really aren't simple with you, are they?" She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose." 

"I'm afraid not, my dear. You said it yourself."


	8. Only Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.
> 
> Crowley's back on Earth and Gabriel is, hopefully, done with him. Super short, but it needed to be written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda feel bad because this angst is going on longer than I originally planned for. I promise the boys will get back together very soon here.

Crowley awoke in absolute darkness. Muffled car horns and ambient noise drifted through his closed window, the blackout curtains drawn shut to block out the world. He laid atop his silk sheets, the cold fabric sapping his body heat and doing absolutely nothing for his aching bones. It felt like he'd been run over by an ambulance. His pulse thrummed in his ears and he shut his eyes in an attempt to will away his pounding headache.

It had been a horrible dream. Flashes of it still played through his mind. Aziraphale falling. Uriel's fist. Golden cuffs wreathed in sulfurous smoke. Then a barren room in some unused corner with walls thick enough to conceal his cries of agony, a host of Heaven's finest, faces painted with Holy satisfaction as they laid into him, and Gabriel smiling in the background as they did. He could almost feel contentment rolling off the Archangel in waves as he thought back. But it had only been a dream, right?After all, he was back in his bed and Aziraphale was…

Nowhere to be seen.

Crowley's heart plummeted, even as he tried to tell himself that his husband was probably just getting a glass of water. Aziraphale didn't sleep as easily as he did anyway. He slid out of bed, wincing as his aching muscles twinged at the slight effort. "Angel?" He called, desperate for a reply, for some proof that the worst hadn't actually occurred. "Angel, are you there?"

All Crowley heard in response, however, were the distant sounds of the city below.

He was panicking now. As quickly as his battered body would allow, Crowley tore through the flat, searching every dark corner as he shouted. "Aziraphale! Angel, where are you, you bloody idiot?!"

There was no reply. Crowley's footsteps echoed hollowly through the halls as his hopeless calls for Aziraphale melted into soft pleas. His cheeks felt wet and he tried to call the bookshop, but when the phone went straight to voicemail he snarled and flung the device at the wall. He sunk into his chair, head in hand as he bit back the flood threatening to overtake him completely.

"This can't be happening," he breathed. "This can't be real."

As he was pulling his head away from his hand, he caught a glimpse of his wrist, wrapped in a neat circle of dry, red skin. As he inspected the other he found more of the same. His heart sunk one final level as he leaned forward, peering down towards the glossy surface of his desk. The light was dim and the reflection was dark, but he could still see himself. A darkened ring encircled his neck and the blood and bruises were wiped away as if by Miracle, while a tangled mess of limp hair framed his face. And there, staring back at him from dark, sunken sockets, were two piercingly pale colored eyes, their rounded pupils blown in the low light.


	9. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Aziraphale gets one more unwelcome visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaalmost there. They are so frickin close. I don't think I'm going to have Hell's influence in this, because I don't think it's needed. Some crap about Gabe not telling them that the switch wasn't real so his whole plan could be enacted bla bla bla. I'm lazy lol.

It was a long night, just as Aziraphale had suspected it would be. It didn't help that on top of the pain and concern, he had to recount a relevant history of his and Crowley's existence to two humans, only one of which being truly receptive. Newt posed a unique challenge. It took no shorter than two, tedious hours for him and Anathema to placate the young man. Eventually, though, they came to a level of understanding. They left Aziraphale to continue their rest when the sky was still dark, promising to help him find his lost love after they'd had an opportunity to dull their Earth-shattering revelation with voluntary unconsciousness. Aziraphale wished he could do the same. But his mind was too focused on Crowley. Was he alive? What had Gabriel planned? Question after burning question spun through his mind, dizzying and disorienting. He needed air.

At some point in the night, he'd been able to retract his wings with much difficulty. His burned flesh still stung and his bones ached, but at least he was patched up. Even if he did look like a mummy from a D-class horror film. Begrudgingly, Aziraphale struggled into a t-shirt Anathema had left for him. It was plain and tight, and he could only assume that it belonged to Newton given the coffee stains and size. It was horrid. He couldn't remember a time when he'd looked so disheveled and dirty. But it covered the worst of his injuries, and he didn't want to push his luck with another Miracle. Or Curse. He wasn't certain of what vocabulary to use now. After all, he had Fallen and, if given the opportunity, he was sure that the denizens of Hell would love nothing more than to track him down and make their frustrations at his part in halting the Apocalypse known. Before inducting him. They probably knew of his demotion already. He shuddered at the memory of those dank, frigid halls, and tried not to entertain the thought that they might actually be what he had to look forward to in the future. One thing at a time. Air, then Crowley.

Aziraphale stood, grimacing as he felt bones still shifting in ways they definitely shouldn't. Another unfortunate realization he'd come to in the night was that, although he was still more hearty than the average human, his healing capabilities were gone. Whether that was due to the nature of his injuries or his nature altogether now, he was unsure. He hoped it was the former.

Quietly as he could, he shuffled towards the front door. The air was cool against his face, refreshing and damn with early morning dew. He stepped through the threshold, ready for the quiet, and sucked in a breath as he felt a burning in his chest. The faint scent of burning wood caught his attention and he turned to see the horseshoe on the cottage's doorframe glowing orange. "Right," he sighed as he made his way to the bench. It creaked as he settled, but it was comfortable in the way only old wood could be. It offered some solace, all things considered. As the birds began to trill their morning songs, Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried to relax.

"You won't slip away that easily, Aziraphale," said a dry, malice laden voice from his left.

Aziraphale sat up with a start, hissing a curse under his breath at the jolt of pain.

Uriel glanced down their nose at him. "Taking to Demonhood already, are we?"

"I am not a demon," Aziraphale growled. "I would barely even count my descent as Falling, since I was forced. More of a...rude shove with an unfortunate end."

"You still became one of the Fallen, and they are one in the same." Uriel stood, turning to face him. "You know it's true, Aziraphale. You are the enemy now. If you weren't, you would have felt my presence."

Aziraphale glared. "Yes, rather, I suppose you're right on some account. Although, there isn't much Love to you, Uriel, so even if I-"

He was cut off by a hand around his throat and suddenly Uriel's face was much closer to his than he would have liked. "Don't test me, traitor. The only reason you still exist is because Gabriel wants you to suffer. But I have no reservations about snuffing you soul from existence."

"Then I suppose it's too bad that you have to follow orders," Aziraphale croaked.

Uriel sneered and released him, sending him doubled over in a coughing fit. "He'll get bored eventually. For now, you live." They waved their hand and Aziraphale yelped as his body began to knit itself back together with sickening snaps and cracks. "I hope you enjoy the scent of sulfur. Oh wait, of course you do."He felt something fall at his feet and then the Angel was gone as quickly as they appeared.

Aziraphale sighed with relief as the Miracle finished, letting his head fall into his hands for a few, speechless moments. When he finally worked up the courage to peek through his fingers, his heart sank. There, cracked in the grass at his feet, lay a pair of broken black and gold glasses.


	10. The Morning After pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
It turns out being a human sucks when you've spent the past 6000 years relying on your Celestial superpowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, he made it! So there'll probably be one or two more that happen pretty close together in this time line, then the rest will skip to particular moments. Thanks for reading!

Being human was more difficult than Crowley realized. For starters, try as he might, he couldn't will his cellphone back to its pre-flung state. No more Demonic Miracles for him. Which was unfortunate, because he really needed to call someone for help. And by someone, he meant Anathema. After all, she was the only person he knew on Earth that could possibly make sense of anything that was happening right now.

Then there was the decidedly unpleasant unfamiliar aching in his stomach. Originally he thought it had been some side effect from his Heavenly comeuppance, but it continued to persist as he got dressed and stumbled out the door. Maybe it would go away eventually. He had bigger things to worry about at the moment. As he stepped onto the street and strode towards his Bentley, he frowned at the streetlamps. It was early enough in the morning that they were still lit, even as the sky was beginning to transition to the violet of pre-sunrise. But something was different about them. They seemed fuzzy, each ringed by their own individual halos of light. In fact, as he slipped into the driver's seat, most of his surroundings seemed out of focus. Edges were softer and less defined the farther they were from him and street signs were harder to read. He squinted to try and fix the problem, but it didn't really do anything. 

Yeah. He definitely needed help.

With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, Crowely turned the ignition key and slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

Then he frowned and turned it again.

It didn't do any good. There was no familiar rumble, no thematically appropriate Queen blasting from the radio. Just silence, broken by the occasional late night commuter driving by. But of course it was quiet, he hadn't fueled the bloody thing in decades, never had its oil changed or had any sort of service done. 

No Demonic Miracles. Right.

He growled a stream of curses and slid back out onto the street, slamming the car door shut in frustration. Maybe he could catch an early cab or something, he thought. It wouldn't be ideal, but he didn't really have a choice. He needed to find Aziraphale, and for that he needed a human to help him figure out what was going on with him. But he didn't see any taxis around. It was still early.

Without really thinking, Crowley began to walk. Not in any particular direction. His hands were stuffed into his pockets as he sauntered aimlessly down the street, keeping an eye out for the first cab in sight as he continued to simultaneously try and rid his vision of its new, ill-defined nature and ignore the gnawing in his stomach. An early morning jogger passed and he quickly averted his gaze, grumbling a halfhearted "Good morning" as they waved. It was strange seeing the world without the tint of his glasses. He hadn't had the chance to since before Rome. Well, not for any significant stretch of time, anyway. And it certainly hadn't been this hazy back then.

By the time he was able to wave down a cabbie the sun had properly risen, his eyes and head throbbed for some godforsaken reason and his stomach was constantly making horrendously loud gurgling noises. It was enough to reaffirm the fact that, although it had only been the case for a handful of hours, Crowley did indeed hate being human.

"Where to?" Grumbled the man in the driver's seat as Crowley settled in the back.

"Tadfield. I'll give you directions."

Even with the current state of his vision, Crowley could see the man frown back at him in the rearview. "Tadfield? That's a ways out, mate. You sure you've got that kind of cash?"

Crowley bit back a curse, keeping his eyes down. Money, he'd forgotten, currently fell into the realm of Demonic Miracles. "Look, it's been a long night. Just drive, you'll get your money."

He felt the man's gaze linger on him for another moment or two before he sighed and set off. "It's too early for this," he muttered under his breath. "Gonna need your name at least. So I know who to report if you skip out."

"Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley."

"Well, Mister Crowley. I hope you're ready for one hell of a fee."

He didn't answer. In fact, he didn't speak for the majority of the hour long ride. He was thankful that his driver seemed to be just as eager for conversation as he was. When the time came to give directions, Crowley did his best not to get them turned around. Between the eyesight and the discomfort and the overall vexing morning he was having, however, it almost couldn't be helped. Both he and the cabbie were on their last ropes when the car finally pulled up to Anathema's cottage, and he suspected that the only reason he hadn't been kicked out miles down the road was the hefty charge that shone from the small LED display on the dash. He could just barely make out £790.93.

"Finally," Crowley growled, fumbling with the door handle in his attempts at a speedy escape. "Stay here."

"I'll keep the meter running," the driver called.

"Of course you will," Crowley hissed under his breath as he marched up to the door. He could dimly hear voices inside, at least two, but he was too tired and irritated to pick out who they belonged to. Without even knocking, he threw open the door. "Right, anyone got about eight-hundred pounds? I need to pay a driver."


	11. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Aziraphale and Crowley are finally reunited as they try and come to terms with their new normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY got this done. I'm sorry it's so late, between starting PT school and this hurricane, life has been a little nuts. I won't be able to upload as frequently, but I will continue to the end. This will just have to be my break. After this chapter, the story will bounce around for a while time wise. Still in chronological order, but it may skip a year or so here and there, just to focus on specific scenes. Anyway, thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

Anathema and Aziraphale were in the middle of unwrapping his now unnecessary bandages and planning their search when they heard the car pull up. After Uriel's visit Aziraphale didn't enjoy the idea of sitting alone outside anymore and, painful as it was to pass under the horseshoe, the little cottage gave him a small sense of security. Even if it was false. Besides, Anathema's company was a welcome balm for his nerves. She was rational when Aziraphale felt he was having trouble, and her logical, level headed impute had done wonders for reassurance. It also helped that Newton was still fast asleep. After the night they'd had though, Aziraphale couldn't blame him. 

"Are you expecting company?" Aziraphale asked, shooting a quizzical glance over at Anathema. "Should I wait upstairs?"

Anathema shook her head without taking her eyes off the door. "No, usually my house guests come in on bikes. Just...hang on."

Aziraphale nodded and watched as she strode towards the door to open it. Just as her fingertips skimmed the doorknob it swung open, barely missing her. Her protests, however, were drowned out by a wonderfully familiar, put upon voice.

"Right, anyone got about eight-hundred pounds? I need to pay a driver," Crowley growled as he stepped through the threshold. He looked mostly fine, if a little disheveled. There was a clearly irritated ring of skin on his neck, his hair was a rat's nest and he still wore his black silken pajamas. But, Aziraphale realized with a start as Crowley's gaze settled on him, his amber reptilian eyes were duller than normal, more green in hue. And decidedly less reptilian. 

"...Aziraphale?" Crowley breathed. He took a step, seeming as though he might fall to his knees at any second. Then, just as Aziraphale stood, he was across the room in a second, tears streaming down his face as he circled his arms around his husband and held on tight. 

"It's all right, my dear," the Fallen Angel murmured, returning the embrace as his own eyes began to water. He stroked Crowley's hair as the taller man buried his face into his neck. "It's all right, I'm right here."

"I'm sorry, angel," Crowley said. His voice was muffled by tears and Aziraphale's shirt. "I tried to stop them, but...I'm sorry."

Aziraphale held back a wince. As much as he loved having Crowley in his arms, and he truly was thankful for it, he could still feel a slow, boiling tide of resentment burbling in his chest at the sound of his pet name. Not towards his husband, of course, but it was there. "I could say the same for you. I shouldn't have let my guard down, I suspected that Gabriel would enact some sort of punishment."

"It's not your fault," Crowley muttered. "They're sneaky bastards, the lot of them."

"Quite."

Outside, the sound of an angry carn horn jolted them from their reunion.

Crowley's nose wrinkled. "Right...Look, I know I just got here, but do you think you could help with that?"

"Why don't you just Will the money for him?" Aziraphale asked.

"Long story."

"All right, I'll get it," Aziraphale said with a frown, already headed towards the door. "But don't go anywhere."

"Wasn't planning on it."

The driver glared at him as he walked up, but Aziraphale refused to stoop to his level. After all, if he could stay relatively positive after the night he'd just had, this human certainly could as well. "Good morning, sir. Lovely day we're ha-"

"Look old man, I've got to get back," the driver grumped. "Are you going to pay his fee or not?"

Aziraphale's smile tightened. "Of course. Rather, how much was it?"

"Eight hundred'll do."

"Right," he said, snapping a finger and handing the man a roll of cash. "Here you are. And have a lovely day."

The man looked down at the bundle, then back up at Aziraphale's faltering smile. His expression wrestled between shocked and paranoid before he decided to roll up the window and drive off without another word.

The Fallen Angel watched him go with a huff before turning to head back inside. "I will never understand how some people can be so rude," he muttered, shutting the door behind him.

"To be fair," Crowley piped up. "I did make him drive out here first thing in the morning."

Anathema blinked. "From London? I would have hated you too."

Crowley leveled a dead eyed glare in her direction. "Thanks."

"I'm just saying."

"Speaking of which," Aziraphale said as he settled back down in a seat. "Why didn't you just...drive here, Crowley? What happened?"

Crowley sighed. "It's part of that long story."

"We have nothing but time, my dear boy."

"Well...you more so than me, apparently," Crowley said softly. He looked deflated suddenly, as if that gusto that had filled his sails for centuries had suddenly died off. He worried at the ring around his neck. "I don't really know how, angel, but I don't think I count as divine or hellish anymore."

Aziraphale frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Gabriel tried to...well, Gabriel made me human." Crowley sunk into a chair beside him. "At least I think he did. I certainly don't feel immortal anymore," he griped. "The world's gone fuzzy, I've got this weird cramp in my back from sitting in that blasted cab for so long, and my head feels like it's been through a meat grinder."

"That's not...normal," Aziraphale said carefully. 

"You're telling me."

"Wait, who's Gabriel again?" Anathema asked, coming over to get a better look at Crowley.

He hooked a thumb at Aziraphale. "His old boss. Well, I guess he was mine too, but that was ages ago. Tall guy, creepy purple eyes, likes pastels."

"Right," Anathema muttered absently. "He's one of the Archangels, right?"

Aziraphale sneered. "That he is. He mentions it so often, you'd almost think he forgot his station."

"Most assholes like to brag about their superiority," Anathema said. "The way you describe how Heaven is run, I can't say that I'm surprised. Crowley, you said your head hurt?"

"That's one of the problems, yeah," He grumbled. "That's why I came here. Figured a human witch doctor would know more about being mortal than me."

"I'm a witch, not a witch doctor. They're different...when's the last time you ate?"

Crowley frowned. "Ate? I don't know, a week ago maybe?"

Anathema sighed and stood. "Right, demons don't need food. Well, if you are human you're probably starving. I'll fix you something really quick. Any allergies?"

"Hell if I know."

"...that's fair. Give me a second." With that, she strode over to the kitchen and began fixing breakfast.

Aziraphale peered over at Crowley. "It still doesn't make sense. Gabriel shouldn't have the kind of power it takes to strip a soul of its celestial nature."

"He does now," Crowley muttered. "Apparently he's been working on it for a while. Seemed proud of it."

"If that's the case, why did he only take it from you?"

"I don't know, maybe he can only do it with demons? Or maybe he just thought this would hurt more. Sadistic prick."

Aziraphale paused and his heart began to sink. Of course it would hurt more. Crowley had been a demon, so to Gabriel he was only just higher than an ant in importance. He had been the enemy, one that had aided in the destruction of a plan that stretched millenia. And Heaven had captured him. Had he wanted to, Gabriel could have stuck Crowley down in a moment with little more than a word. But he was a pawn, Aziraphale realized, another cog in the Archangel's plan to truly isolate him. Gabriel had always been a fan of a drawn out plan, after all.

He lowered his gaze, going to fiddle with his wedding band but froze when he realized it wasn't there. Well, not exactly. As Aziraphale looked down, he could see the familiar gold speckled with small black diamonds, but there was almost no trace of the faintly carved scales. The ring itself had melted into his finger, dripped over his knuckle like a cage of frozen molasses. It didn't hurt, not really, but when Aziraphale tried to move the finger it didn't bend quite as far as it should. The metal tugged at his skin, and wondered why he hadn't noticed it earlier.

"-s to do it himself...Aziraphale," said Crowley, frowning in his direction. "You all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking."

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him and took his hand. "Did this happen during...?" He asked softly.

"Yes," Aziraphale said, wincing as Crowley tried to pick off a section of the melted ring. "I rather believe it did. I'm not sure I'll be able to replace it, though. Uriel seems to have seen to that."

"Uriel?" Crowley growled. "They came here?"

"Well I very well couldn't heal myself alone after that, dear," Aziraphale quipped. "Besides, it would have ruined Gabriel's plan if I had discorporated so soon."

The rage on Crowley's face dropped and his expression softened. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand. "Right. Sorry."

"It's all right. We're here now. That's all that matters."

Anathema returned with some toast, fruit, and tea. She set the plates and bowls down in the center of the table, along with some jams and honey. Both she and Aziraphale stared at Crowley as his stomach growled far louder than it should have.

"Is that normal?" Aziraphale asked, casting a worried glance between her and his husband.

"It is if you haven't eaten in a long time."

Crowley reached forward and grabbed some toast and jam. "I mean, I've had wine. That's made from grapes so it counts."

"It really doesn't," Anathema sighed. She handed Crowley a pair of glasses. "Here. Try these on and tell me if it's easier to see."

"I don't need those" Crowely said around his toast. "They just make the world fuzzier for me. It's already fuzzy."

Anathema pinched the bridge of her nose. "Crowley. You said you were having trouble seeing. Considering you're a middle aged ex-snakeman now, these probably aren't your prescription. But if they help you see, we can at least rule out some sort of Angelic eye curse or something as the source of your problems."

Crowley wrinkled his nose down at them. "But they're huge."

"Crowley," both Anathema and Aziraphale said in unison.

"Fine," he grumbled, finishing his toast with a reverent expression before dusting off his hands and slipping them on. "...huh. I guess that is a little better."


	12. Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Aziraphale and Crowley are finally reunited as they try and come to terms with their new normal.  
Aziraphale is finally having to come to terms with he new lease on life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and comfort. Gotta love some duel trauma.

Crowley was even more thankful for his proclivity to nap ever since his celestial reassignment. He didn’t have to worry about finding a suitable bed or blankets, even if he tended to use them less often since he wasn’t so cold all the time. Sleeping itself was even more satisfying now, although it would only make sense since it was actually necessary. 

But there was one, small drawback.

The human mind is creative by nature, and Crowley had always been a creative person. He’d often tend towards exaggerations and wild fantasies, and Lord knows how many times he would have discorperated if not for his ability to Will almost anything to his design. Needless to say, his imagination seemed to take on a life of its own now; and what better time to do so than in his sleep.

Crowley’s eyes flew open with a start, sheets and blanket soaked in a cold sweat as the remnants of agonized screaming and the sounds of holy blades on flesh echoed between his ears. His muscles quivered, fatigued from their fearful contraction, and he could taste blood where the tip of his tongue was raw.

“Another nightmare?” Aziraphale asked as he rolled over to wrap an arm around Crowley. In the months since the...event, the Fallen Angel had insisted on spending more and more time with Crowley. He even tried to convince his husband to move in with him, but Crowley had argued bitterly against the idea. He wasn’t going to let this take everything from him. Besides, as much as he adored Aziraphale, he was still six thousand years old. He needed his own space. So the apartment, just like everything else in Crowley’s life, miraculously remained paid for. Crowley knew better than to comment.

“It’s nothing,” Crowley muttered, flipping over to face his husband. “Just more of the same.”

Aziraphale reached out to stroke his hair, grey eyes soft and comforting. “I’m, my dear,” he murmured. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“You’re doing plenty,” Crowley said, scooting forward to bury his face in Aziraphale’s chest and slip his cool hands under his husband’s shirt. He chuckled as Aziraphale hissed. “I’ll be back to sleep before you know it.”

“Good.” Aziraphale kissed the top of his head, continuing to run his fingers through his hair. They were silent for a long time, the calming sounds of the city dull in the background as they lay there.

“...You know what I found out the other day?”

“Mm?”

“They’re planning on converting the...area into a park. Just for the surrounding towns. Anathema told me. Apparently it's has been deemed unfit for any returning plant life. Everything just...withers.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s fingers tighten in his hair. He knew the area his husband was talking about, he’d seen it. It had been cleared a bit by the time he had, of course, most of the animals were gone at least. He remembered the burned trees, the ever so faint odor of brimstone and char, and the divot in the middle of it all where, if he looked close enough, he could see the faint outline of two wings. It felt horribly familiar. Aziraphale hadn’t spoken about the Fall since the day Crowley had barged into Anathema’s cabin. He always claimed to have more important things to worry about, like making sure Crowley had the proper food or shelter or anything else he needed. Then when he wasn’t fussing over Crowley he made himself overly busy with other things. Within the first week of him Falling, Crowley walked in on Aziraphale reorganizing the entire bookshop with more intensity than he’d seen his husband muster in a long time. Crowley had asked what the sudden change was for, but Aziraphale had been reserved, dodging and redirecting his questions until he finally decided to let it go. As he helped Aziraphale, however, he did notice that the Fallen Angel had taken to storing more of his religious texts towards the shadowy corners of the shop.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. He could see the pain etched on his face, his gaze low and melancholy. “I guess it would make sense, though,” Aziraphale said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That nothing would grow in such a cursed place.”

“Aziraphale…”

“Will it always be like this?” He asked, finally looking back at Crowley. “This...hopelessness? I always thought that Falling would be the worst part, but this...It’s...I’m hollow. I can’t feel love like before. I spent my entire existence fighting for a cause and when I finally fely as though I got it right, I was forced to become something entirely different.” Aziraphale’s eyes were spilling over at this point, dampening the pillow case. “And I’m... I’m frightened, Crowley. What am I supposed to be now, what am I meant to do? I’m not Good anymore, and I’d rather cease existing than became anything like...them.”

Crowley bit the inside of his lip and pulled Aziraphale close to him. “Don’t talk like that, angel, of course you’re Good.”

“I’m not an Angel, Crowley,” Aziaphale said, his voice muffled by tears and Crowley’s chest.

“You’re my angel, Aziraphale. You always will be.”

He continued to cry into Crowley’s chest, his hands tightly gripped onto the back of his shirt. “...How did you do it?” he asked after he’d calmed down a bit.

“Do what, Aziraphale?”

“How did you become so different? Stave off all of that...darkness?”

Crowley sighed, running his hand down Aziraphale’s back. “I didn’t at first. I’m not proud of it, but there wasn’t much else to do in the beginning. You either let the hatred win or you didn’t make it. But after a while I started to realize that, even after Falling, existence wan't just black and white.” He smirked and kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “You helped with that, actually. You and your stupid kindness.”

Aziraphale sniffled and managed a quiet chuckle. “Well, someone had to set a good example.”

“Yeah, I guess so...you’re going to be fine, Aziraphale. You are so much stronger than any of us ever where. I mean, not everyone survived the Fall, and everyone who did was a dickhead for ages afterwards. But not you. It doesn’t matter if you’re an Angel from Gabriel’s Heaven or not. Screw them, they aren’t all that anyway. You’re Good because you put others first, even if it means you might come to harm.” Crowley gently tilting Aziraphale’s chin up and gave him a quick kiss. “Even if you’ve Fallen, you’ll never need to worry about becoming a Demon. Trust me, I know. You’re just as perfect, strong, stubborn and Good now as you were then. Nothing can change that. One day you’ll be able to see it as easily as I can.”

Aziraphale began to tear up again and he smiled softly up at Crowley. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Of course, angel.”


	13. Well and Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Aziraphale and Crowley are finally reunited as they try and come to terms with their new normal.  
Some innocent, slightly drunken fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is super short and kinda eh, but I thought it was sweet. The boys need sweet. Because it's ending soon. And they deserve it.

"Maybe we should get a pet," Crowley drawled as he draped himself over the back of a particularly fluffy couch and his particularly comfortable husband. He barely managed to keep his wine glass from spilling as he did so. 

It was well into the evening, the blinds shut tight against the frigid night air while the scent of old paper and leather mixed with the alcohol and Aziraphale's smokey sunshine. The wine was hitting him particularly hard this evening, but Crowley didn't mind. It took much less to get a buzz now and Aziraphale could always help him deal with his hangover. Besides, there was something almost intoxicating about the ability to feel the full effect of a drunken night. It felt nice to have a sort of proof. Even if it was miserable.

Aziraphale scrunched his nose down at Crowley, resting his glass and hands on his stomach. "A pet?"

"A lizard or somethin. Or a cat."

"And what brought this on?" Aziraphale chuckled. "We don't need pets, my dear, and I for one do not want to clean up after one."

"But I'm bored!" Crowley cried. He knew he was whining, but it was worth it to see his husband's slate-grey eyes roll. "S'not like we've got jobs anymore. It wouldn't be so hard."

"I do have a job, Crowley."

"You know the shop doesn't count."

"Of course it does," Aziraphale huffed. "Some of us still have to appear mortal."

Crowley pouted. "That was low."

"Sorry...where would we keep this metaphorical animal, anyway? I'm certain that your flat as a no pets policy."

"Why not here? It would keep you busy, knocking over books and hissing at customers."

Aziraphale glared and took a sip of his wine. "Absolutely not. I have an image to uphold."

"Right, and a cat wouldn't fit into the middle aged Soho book dealer look?"

"...You make it sound like I deal in illicit business."

Crowley snorted and attempted to sip his wine, only repositioning himself when some dripped onto his chest.

"You really shouldn't be drinking this much, you know," Aziraphale said after a moment. "It's not good for you."

"I don't see you stopping,"

He sighed. "Yes, but I am a great deal more resilient than you now. And you know I can't heal you anymore."

"You'll figure it out again. I did."

"I suppose."

Crowley finished off his glass and set it aside before settling back on Aziraphale's lap. He closed his eyes with a contented sigh, the lingering bittersweet taste on his tongue and the warmth of the shop lulling him closer to sleep. He seemed to be more tired these days, relishing in sunbathed midday naps and lazy days spent listening to music or just talking with Aziraphale. He no longer had that itch for mischief, although he did enjoy the occasional prank. Just days spent in love and self indulgence.

He winced as he shifted and felt a sharp pain in his stomach.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Aziraphale asked softly, running his hand through Crowley's hair.

"M'fine, just a cramp or something."

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgment and gently scratched his scalp. "We could go upstairs, you know. The bed would be far more comfortable."

"Yeah, you're probably right… Carry me?"

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale laughed. "You're worse than a soggy coat when you're drunk! All...limbs and dead weight."

Crowley wrinkled his nose as he sat up. "Well you don't have to be mean about it.

Aziraphale chuckled and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. "All right, I'm sorry."

Crowley smirked. "You should be."


	14. Fate is a Cruel Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Aziraphale and Crowley are finally reunited as they try and come to terms with their new normal.  
Jumping forward to the end of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. There will be like four more chapters, varying in length. I wanted to keep most of the years living together up for interpretation, but I may go back and add a fluff chapter here and there. Anyway, enjoy the alcoholism induced angst!

Aziraphale sat silently next to Crowley's bedside, his fingers tapping ceaselessly on the ashen grey of his pants as minutes seemed to stretch into hours. It didn't help that the sterile white room and the resonating sound of shoes on linoleum reminded him of Heaven.

This had all started as a simple appointment, just a few questions about a stomach ache. Humans had aches and pains all the time, and Crowley was no exception. They only became a little worried after the third day. So Aziraphale finally convinced Crowley to see a doctor. Afterall, it couldn't hurt to be certain. They had asked their questions, expressed their concerns, ran their tests and in the end referred them for imaging with an expression Aziraphale hadn't quite been able to place. 

"Just to be sure," they had said. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, but it couldn't hurt."

So Aziraphale had set the appointment and brought them in, trying to be as cooperative as possible since Crowley seemed intent on grumbling about the entire process. Scans were taken, blood was drawn and they were sent on their way with a disk and the promise of results in the following week or so.

That was eight months ago.

Now they were alone in the room that had been Crowley's home for the past month. Aziraphale tried to focus on the sunny day outside, to not think about the yellowing whites of his husband's eyes, the sheen of sweat on his brow, or the constant need for sleep that he feared would snatch Crowley away forever. He refused. They had been through so much. They had survived impossible odds. Surely this was just another trial. Aziraphale glanced upwards and, for a fraction of a second, began to open his mouth to speak. But it closed as quickly as it had opened and he shook his head.

He gaze snapped over to the door as it clicked clicked open and the doctor walked it, wearing an expression that Aziraphale now knew all too well. His blood ran cold.

"Mister Fell?" She asked quietly, glancing at the softly snoring Crowley. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Aziraphale nodded, standing and brushing out the creases in his pants. He ran his fingers through Crowley's hair once before meeting her by the door.

"We have the test results," she murmured, glancing once more at Crowley. "Unfortunately his condition isn't improving."

"Well, I could have told you as much," Aziraphale quipped. "...I'm sorry, this is just...things have been difficult."

The doctor nodded sagely before continuing. "At this point, there aren't many options. Unfortunately with the liver, a lot of cases aren't detected early enough for less invasive treatment options to succeed on their own. And in your husband's case...I'm sorry, but the organ is too compromised to risk surgery, and since the cancer has begun to spread elsewhere…"

"We're out of time," Aziraphale said, voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor sighed, her expression full of sympathy and pity that he didn't want. He wished he could wipe it off her face, that some God given miracle would give these bumbling humans the inspiration to do something. 

He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. It wasn't her fault. She was just doing her job.

"There are options to make the transition easier," she said softly. "We can make him more comfortable. But I'm sorry there isn't more we can do."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, bitter, soft and cold.

She nodded and opened the door. "I'll leave some information at the front desk for you. You should get some rest, Mr. Fell."

"Right."

Crowley shifted as the door closed, grumbling in his sleep. It was the only sound Aziraphale could hear outside the whirs and beeps of the monitors and the drip of the IV, but after a moment this faded too.

As Aziraphale looked down at his husband's face, gaunt with pain and illness, he silently cursed the powers that led them to this. That dared to make their ending so cruel. Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley's forehead, choking back the burning in his chest and, for the first time since he'd Fallen, smelled just a hint of sulfur.


	15. One is a Lonely Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Aziraphale and Crowley are finally reunited as they try and come to terms with their new normal.  
Post funeral feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Zira, you are a wonderful, fluffy boy who deserves absolutely none of this.

It was a lovely evening, unusually clear for the time of year. A breeze carried the end of Aziraphale’s black scarf and the sky was painted a vibrant, dusky orange in front of him. But there were no ducks. There were no benches to sit at, no well worn paths to walk. He could smell the rain from the storm slowly rolling in behind him, fresh and sweet on the wind as he stared at the simple headstone at his feet.

It had been a small wake. Anathema, Newton, Adam and his family, the now Mister and Missus Shadwell, as well as a few people from Crowley’s support group had come. Honestly, Aziraphale wouldn’t have arranged it at all if Crowley hadn’t insisted on it in the hospital, but he said it might help make the process a little bit easier. Aziraphale had thought it was a pointless endeavor, but he’d arranged it all the same. It was one of his husband’s final requests afterall. 

He’d spent the majority of the service in the back, listening to an unintelligible tide of well wishes and sentiment as he fought back the urge to scream. None of them knew, not a one who had stood up there, misty eyed and remorseful truly knew what the world had lost. What he had lost. Aziraphale had done his best not to glare as the humans spoke. Why should they get to continue their measly existence when his husband’s was cut so short? What had they done to deserve it? He tried not to be bitter. He knew it wasn’t their fault, and that Crowley would say there was no point in wasting energy. But it bubbled just under the surface of his skin the entire time, even during Anathema’s speech which, admittedly, came the closest to scratching the surface of his emotional turmoil.

Aziraphale thought about it now, alone in a forest of stones as his eyes continued to focus on the freshly disturbed earth in front of him. He’d been trying to speak for what felt like hours, to say something, anything. But his mind was a fog laden waste, his emotions as slick as the shadows creeping closer. His chest ached and his throat burned. How could he put centuries, millenia of joy and pain, laughter and anguish into such finite moments? What words would be worthy of such a life? Would Crowley even hear? Aziraphale briefly wonder where Crowley would be now, if anywhere at all. There weren’t really any protocols for celestials turned human. In the end, he decided it was best not to dwell on it. 

As the soft rumble of thunder drifted in from the distance and the trees around the graveyard began to rustle in the wind, Aziraphale thought back to his husband’s face. The vibrant yellow of his serpent’s eyes, the paler hazel of his human ones, and the way he’d always grin as if he’d conned the devil himself. He thought about the quiet moments in the flat and the bookshop, of Rome and Golgatha. And of Eden, before he’d loved him, still hesitant and confused as the wiley Serpent chose to start the conversation that sparked it all.

Aziraphale watched as spots of dampened soil began to appear, but he didn’t bother to wipe his eyes. He swallowed hard around the growing lump in his throat as the thunder rolled again and he picked at his melted wedding band. “Goodbye Crowley,” He murmured, worrying at the melted ring on his left hand. “Rest well.”


	16. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven realizes the swap happened and comes back to enact revenge. Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to life after. Lots of fluff, more angst. At least one person dies at some point.  
Aziraphale and Crowley are finally reunited as they try and come to terms with their new normal.
> 
> The beginning of eternity for our favorite goth boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the past couple were writer's block busters. They weren't super good, but I had to get them out or else I would have NEVER made it here. But here we are! Afterlife for Crowley!

Well. This was unexpected.

Crowley had slipped away quietly, gripping Aziraphale's hand as tightly as his fading mortal body could as he tried to reassure the Fallen Angel that he would be fine. That he wasn't afraid of the eternity of suffering that surely awaited him, and so Aziraphale shouldn't worry either. He knew his husband would remember the screams and moans of the damned from his brief time below for the trial, and he prayed that Aziraphale wouldn't think of it.

But when Crowley opened his eyes to an endless expanse of brilliant white and blue so bright that he immediately raised a hand to shield them, he almost wished that he was burning instead.

He'd heard of this entrance, though he'd Fallen before he'd gotten the chance to see it. It was ostentatious, gaudy, and nothing like the clinical office halls of the Celestial wing. A gilded golden gate that stretched for eternity stood before him, as tall as it was long. Wisps of cloud swirled through its bars, dancing with the reflected sunlight and obscuring his view beyond in such a way that it made him feel more hopeless than anything. Part of it reminded Crowley of Berlin. He shuddered.

A familiar looking man in white stood at a podium off to the side of the entrance, his beard long with age though his eyes held the vibrancy of youth. Had it not been for the way he stared between the book in front of him and Crowley in shock, he might not have recognized him at all.

"Well," the man said, his voice as light as a bell tone. "It has been some time."

"Peter," Crowley crooned, settling his weight to one leg as he crossed his arms. "Look at you, all saintly and divine. I heard they had you playing gatekeeper, but it didn't seem like your...thing."

Peter chuckled and shook his head. "It wasn't. But we all have our roles to fill, and I am more than happy to fulfill mine. To be here after the life I led, well...it certainly caps off an interesting story, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe. But it's a lot of pressure. The final say for who gets to bask in Glory or not. Seems like a burden if you ask me."

"It's not easy, but someone has to. I'm just the messenger, really, the real choice is above me. I have my say, of course, but...well. Let's just say that it makes it easier for those who Fall to blame me than it would be if they blamed their God."

Crowley scoffed. "Right. Because what's better than a Holy white lie?"

Peter's face fell as he spoke. "Can you still not believe that She has Her reasons?"

"Oh, I know She does, Peter. She's just the only one that knows them. So we run around, pretending to understand the way things go, good people taking the fall while She plays us all like puppets on a string." Crowley sneered and scoffed a foot in the cloudy ground beneath him. "Some benevolence."

Peter was quiet for a long time, staring at Crowley with strange expression on his face. Was it sadness? Understanding? Pity? Crowley couldn't tell, but he froze when after a few silent moments Peter spoke again.

"She misses you."

Crowley didn't know what to say. His mind was blank. After so much pleading and praying with no response, so many years convincing himself that She heard but chose not to answer out of spite, could She really miss him? Sure, he'd done his best to be an absolute failure of a demon at the beginning in hopes that it might help him regain favor but...he'd spent six thousand years loosely aligned with Hell. Crowley had only followed orders at a bare minimum of course, he'd always hated the idea of pulling humanity into a fate he'd barely survived. But surely She'd forgotten about him by now...right?

Peter offered him a small, calm smile as he flipped through his book. "Well. Let's get on with business, shall we?"

With a vacuous sucking sound and a plume of downy cloud, a hole ripped open at Crowley's feet. Instantly the acrid stench of sulfur accosted his senses, bringing tears his eyes as he glanced down. He could see the pit, the very same that stripped him of his original divinity, boiling below. It seemed hundreds of miles away, yet close enough to touch, to feel the intense heat crawling over him like a waterlogged blanket, and he swore he could hear it whispering to him. 

"Your name?"

The ex-Demon looked up. "...Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley."

"That is one of them, yes," Peter chuckled. "I suppose you prefer not to be called-"

"If you do, I'm dragging you down with me."

At that, Peter's chuckle grew to a full blown laugh. "I'm sure you'd try. Now, Anthony J. Crowley, former Fallen Angel and Denizen of Hell, Serpent of Eden, Temptress, Provocateur and Architect of the Original Sin, you stand before these gates as a test to your immortal soul. Are you prepared to accept this final truth?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I'm afraid not," Peter said. "The question is more of a formality than anything. Let's see here...Oh, that's interesting. Can't say I'm surprised, though."

Crowley frowned, nervous dispute his refusal to admit it, and began to twirl his wedding band. "Surprised by what?"

The Gatekeeper looked up. "Mm? Oh, well I'm just admiring your lovely list of Good Deeds. You had quite some time to build this resume up."

Crowley's frown deepened. "You don't judge just by deeds, Peter, you judge the soul. And I'm...I was a demon, so there isn't much to it."

"Your Deeds reflect the content of your soul Crowley, and whether you agree with it or not, it is far better than you would have people believe. Using your nature to defy your station while passing it off under clever ruses, never truly utilizing the full extent of your Influence after Eden, taking the blame for human-born atrocities and thereby deterring the forces of Hell from making them so much worse, and risking yourself on multiple occasions to fulfill Miracles. You even dedicated yourself to rediscovering your powers of Healing and Creation to do so. What Demon in their right mind would do such things?"

"It was convenient," Crowley muttered. "No point in both Aziraphale and I cancelling each other out. And I tempted plenty, thank you. Lots of quality, corrupting schemes."

"Yes, because causing minor annoyances that you would later fall for yourself is so demonic," Peter drawled.

"I made the M25 into a demonic sigil. Lots of people burned on that."

"That was a problem, yes. But Adam saw to that, and you were as horrified by it as anyone else."

"And what about the Apocalypse? I helped thwart God's biggest plan!"

Peter laughed. "Do you honestly think if it absolutely needed to go the other way that it wouldn't have? Really, Crowley, it almost sounds like you want to return to the dark."

Crowley was quiet for a long time. "...I don't belong here. Not anymore."

Peter gave him a sad smile. "Well, someone disagrees." With a wave of his hand and a loud pop the hole in front of Crowley sealed shut. "I hereby grant you entrance. We'll have to figure out where you'll go, since you're technically a human with a vast amount of celestial knowledge, but," he said, holding a hand out as the gates began to open. "I'm sure you'll settle eventually. Now, if you excuse me, I have other souls to tend to. Can't keep extending a moment to chat, even if you are a special case."

Crowley looked between the Gatekeeper and the swirling clouds beyond the golden metal. "Right," he sighed quietly. "Well. I guess we'll be seeing each other?"

"Most likely. Welcome home, Crowley."


	17. Heaven's Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we're almost done! Surprise-not-surprise. I can't do sad endings, I tried and felt terrible. So there'll probably be 2(ish) more before the end

Settling, it turns out, was harder than even Crowley would have anticipated. Finding his place amongst the Heavenly halls was a nightmare in and of itself. It confused people, why their Angel guardians sneered as he passed, why he hovered silently in the background when Gabriel or Michael came to speak, or why he never seemed as eager to ask about the greater curiosities of life as the other newly entered souls. A few people even attempted to strike up a conversation, despite Crowley's various attempts at shrugging them away. He didn't feel right talking to them, afraid he might say something that would make them too curious. Besides, the majority of his human interaction over the past several millennia had boiled down to snarky comments or petty trickery, and that certainly wouldn't fly up here. 

He didn't have to put up with it for long, though. Apparently someone had taken it upon themselves to warn the humans about how dangerous he could be, that he'd already Fallen once, so what was to stop him from Falling again? And dragging more people down with him. Crowley couldn't be sure who had slipped his little secret to the public, though he suspected that it someone of the winged variety. Regardless, more and more of those among the Blessed began to keep their distance. Crowley told himself he didn't mind, of course, that he enjoyed the solitude. But it was lonely.

He missed Aziraphale.

Crowley had been housed by the Apostles, much to Gabriel's chagrin. But considering that they were some of the few humans who understood enough about celestial nature and the workings of Heaven and Hell to not cast him out or take advantage of Crowley's position, it only made sense. So occasionally Crowley would get to talk with St. Peter or some of the more seasoned residents of Heaven. They seemed to accept his presence more than those who had come from the general populous. Some even remembered him from their time on Earth and joked about how such a famed Demon could be bad enough at his job as to be redeemed in a roundabout way. Others congratulated him. Crowley tried not to accept it. But they were busy most days, tending to the education and storytelling duties that came with their station, so he was often alone.

He dreaded being alone. Idle time meant time for visits. Crowley learned quickly to at least pretend to be busy the first day after his tale had been shared. Michael came, apparently making enough time in their busy day to seat themselves at his table and ask him pointed questions about his worthiness. When his answers weren't sufficient, Michael smiled coldly. "I suppose it makes sense," they said as they stood. "That the only way you could return was by finding a loophole. Congratulations, Trickster. Your transgressions will catch you eventually. Afterall, Good always conquers Evil."

Those words rattled in Crowley's head as he walked the lonely marbled streets, day after bright and shining day, and he knew at some level they were right. What was he doing here? From then on, he kept his head low, avoided the Celestial sector and made himself scarce whenever he heard the steady sound of wings.

It was on one of these lonely days when it happened. Crowley didn't know how long he'd been here, how much time he'd spent making himself as small as possible. All he knew was that if he had to listen to one more damned celestial harmony that he was going to rip off his own ears. 

The sound was soft at first, so soft that Crowley thought he'd imagined it. He turned and, seeing that no one else had reacted, kept walking. Then it came again, just loud enough to make him really look for the source. A couple of low ranking members of the Host turned as well, pausing their patrol to frown towards the sky at the unfamiliar sound. Then it came a third time, and Crowley could no longer deny his senses. His name, his true and first name, without translation to human tongue drifted from somewhere in the distance. It drowned out the ambient chorus of Heaven, a melodious swelling of a million voices that seemed to take physical shape in the air around him. It beckoned to Crowely like nothing else could. His head pounded, his chest felt too tight to breath and he found himself walking towards the call without a second thought. Afterall, only one being had the ability to summon him so completely.

When he arrived before the impossibly luminescent throne Crowley finally hesitated. He could still hear his name ringing in his ears, the power and conflicting tide of joy and sadness it brought threatening to send him running. He hadn't seen Her in so long, and here he was, now a human on the brink of once again meeting the being who had made him of Love and cast him to Hatred. What could She want with him? His life was over and here now. As he walked into the light, however, he decided it was best not to question the intentions of Gods.

It was too bright to see. Crowley suspected it had something to do with his briefly mortal soul. It was probably for the best. He shut his eyes against the searing, pure white light as he knelt to the ground. He could feel Her, warmth and Love and radiance rolling off her presence in waves. But it was tinged with...amusement? Crowley wasn't sure, he was out of touch with the whole sensing positive emotions thing. The only reason he could even feel anything was because She was pretty much a giant, glowing ball of pure Goodness. But She wasn't speaking, so after a while Crowley assumed that she was waiting for him.

"I, uh...haven't heard that in a while," he said, keeping his head low.

"You'd hear it more if you used it," She said. Her voice echoed in the space, seemingly immense and Crowley wondered if it had always been that way. "How are you?"

Crowley couldn't hold back the dry laugh that bubbled from his chest. "Really? You're asking now?"

"Yes."

"Little late, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," she said. "But circumstances kept me from asking sooner."

"Don't you control circumstance?"

"To an extent. There must be some room for free will, or else there's no point in it all."

"If that was the case, then why was I punished for mine?" Crowley quipped, unsure of which instance he was referring to. There were a few, afterall.

"You haven't lost your curiosity, I see," She said matter-of-factly. "That's good. It always has been one of your best qualities."

Crowley sneered and stood to face the all encompassing light, fists clenched and teeth grinding. It burned, oh it burned, but he didn't care anymore. He refused to cower. "You could have had me fooled."

"You are so dense sometimes, though," She continued with a sigh. "I didn't need you here. It pained me to send you away, more so than almost anything I've done or allowed. But tell me, had there not been someone brave enough to question the limits of demonhood, to really think about their purpose in the world, what do you think would have happened the day Adam had come into his power?"

Crowley's eyes narrow and he bit back his response.

"It takes intelligence," She said. "Cunning and a heart Good enough to withstand the worst this world has to offer to be able to witness so many horrible things and still find some reason to be the light everyone needs. Even when you're supposed to be the opposite. Everyone else who Fell did so because of their own choices, that much is out of my control. But I put you there because I knew you could turn the tide."

"...then why didn't you ever answer me? Why didn't you tell me? You let me burn, you made me watch my family die and rot and turn into something they were never meant to be. Why. Didn't. You. Answer?"

She chuckled. "That would have ruined the odds, wouldn't it have? It's all an ineffable game, remember? I'm generally a good gambler, but I had to be sure."

Crowley was silent. He could feel himself shaking, maybe from fury, maybe from anguish. The knot in his chest grew and he swallowed hard as his jaw clenched. He should have known. He had always said that God had no preference about the state of being, that She enjoyed the suffering of Her toys just as much as She enjoyed their joy and devotion. But to hear it from Her, to hear Her admit it was all one, big, stupid game almost made him snap.

"You have every right to be angry with me." Her voice was quiet and...rough for a quick moment. Like She was holding back a flood of emotion, willing it to not take Her down. It was only for a fraction of a second, just long enough to keep Crowley from cursing Her then and there, and it was gone just as quickly. "I watched it all. I felt your pain. And I truly am sorry."

Crowley took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Eventually he willed the resentment clawing up his throat back down and unclenched his fists.

She sighed. "I did try and let you know," She said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Afterall, guarding Eden was supposed to be a Cherub's appointment, not a Principality's."

"...Aziraphale…"

"You two really did take your time," She chuckled. "I thought I was going to have to come down there myself and sit you down to talk it out."

"But I...he...you wanted...why?"

"You deserved a Love I could no longer give. And he needed someone to show him that he was worthy and Good. Besides, neither one of you could have averted the Apocalypse alone. As it stands, you really didn't do much."

Crowley glared. "Hey!"

"Am I wrong?"

"Well, ye-...no, no I guess not," he grumbled.

She laughed, truly and fully. It was...divine. There was no other way to describe it, the sound ringing out with a joy so pure it made Crowley feel as though he was floating. "It's all right though, you did your part."

Crowley laughed, though it didn't last long. His mind drifted back to Aziraphale and his smile faded. "So...did you order Gabriel to…"

"No, I didn't. A little bit of free will, remember?" She sighed. "I did convince him not to kill you both outright. And you did a wonderful job of keeping Aziraphale from really Falling."

"What do you mean?" Crowley asked with a frown.

"He's not a Demon, he's never entered Hell. As much as falling is an integral part of the transformation, an Angel can't truly Fall without entering the pit after. For now he's...an Angel with a different set of skills. Still Good, just a little less divine."

Crowely took a step forward. "For now? So he might still become a Demon?"

"Oh he definitely will," She said. "Given the path he's going down. Which would not be good, considering he would be a lot better at it than you."

"I don't...how do you know that?"

Although all he could see was blinding light, he could feel Her dead eyed glare in his soul. "I made him. I know. Anyway, that's why I called you."

"What can I do?" Crowley asked, twisting his wedding band as he began to pace. "I'm dead. Gone, finished. I can't go back, I can't talk to him. I'm useless!"

"I wouldn't have called you here if your were useless. I can allow you to return."

"And then what? I live another decade or two before I'm right back at the Pearly Gates? What good will that do?"

She sighed. "So dense. Crowley?"

He froze. It was the first time She'd used his chosen name. Something about it felt solidifying, permanent and comforting, like he'd been waiting his entire existence for that one piece to fall into place. "Yes?"

"You can go back to him," She said. "You can go back to him and live out your days together for as long as you like. He needs you, and you need him. And everyone else down there will need you together."

"Is this another part of your game?"

She chuckled. "Something like that."

"And what'll stop Gabriel from punishing us again?" He asked. He could feel his feet lifting from the ground as a blanket of warmth lulled him into the most blissful sense of peace.

"You'll be keeping a powerful Demon from arising on my direct orders. Not even he can work his way around that. Too much paperwork." 

As he was lifted, Crowley could see Her face for the first time in what felt like eons. It shifted in the light as he tried to focus on it, indiscriminate and ethereal as She stared back at him. He could feel something pulling from between his shoulder blades as she smiled. "So, Crowley. Would you like to go home."

He stretched his wings, black and shimmering with radiant, golden light, and smiled back. "Yeah...I think I would."


	18. Strange Bedfellows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale post death. He's having a rough time.

The shop had been closed for almost a week and a half now. Dusty curtains were shut tight again the sunlight and curious passersby, casting sepia shadows over the rows and rows of undisturbed books. A lonely celestial sat deep in the pillowy down of his chair, an open bottle of wine sitting untouched on the table beside him. Tired and numb. Aziraphale had tried to keep himself busy at first. He thought the distraction might be welcome. So he had opened the shop more regularly, had lunches with Anathema, went for long walks in the park, and did everything in his power to actively avoid thinking about his husband's death.

The funny thing about knowing a person for over six millenia, however, is that a lot of things tend to remind you of them.

By the fifth day after Crowley's funeral, Aziraphale had given up on the Ritz. He quickly grew tired of dodging the waiter's questions about where his husband was. By day seven he'd stopped visiting Anathema, claiming that he wasn't feeling very well and that he just needed some time alone. On day ten, Aziraphale locked up the shop, drew the curtains, hung a sign saying it was closed indefinitely for renovations, and refused to answer any calls. Most of them had probably been Anathema anyway, and it wasn't long before they stopped too. She had come to check on him a few days ago, he heard her at the door. But Aziraphale ignored that as well. 

Now all he had was the quiet and endless worlds to lose himself in, but no interest in exploration anymore

Aziraphale had always enjoyed a peaceful night in, calm silence and a good story to block out the bullet quick pace of the world never failed to bring him joy before. The historical exploits reminded him of simpler times, of the wit and perseverance of humanity, and...inevitably some long forgotten memory. They left an ashen taste in his mouth now. But he couldn't bring himself to be rid of them. After all, Aziraphale had spent so much of his time on Earth collecting and preserving these pieces of history. Perhaps, he thought, one day the memories they conjured would lose their sting. However long that would take. He sighed, casting a quick glance at his Gutenberg and the stack of science fiction novels next to it before finally taking a long drag from his bottle. 

When the phone shattered through the deafening silence he almost dropped it. Aziraphale sneered and muttered under his breath as he took another drink, sinking deeper into his chair in hopes that whoever was calling could sense his need to be left to his sulking. But the Fallen Angel had no such luck. The phone continued to ring and ring until, finally, he hauled himself from his chair and snatched it up to his ear. "We are most definitely closed," he growled.

"We know," replied the caller. Their voice was as smooth as gravel and smog, angry and impatient. It made Aziraphale's hair stand on end. "But that doesn't matter for our business."

Aziraphale's eyes narrowed. "I'm not interested, Hastur. I don't have dealings with Hell."

"Could have fooled us," the demon said. "Seemed like you were interested in more than just deals before."

Aziraphale scoffed and slammed the phone down onto the receiver, his grip tightening on the neck of his bottle. "Rotten devils," he grumbled as he backed away. "Fiends and no goods, the lot." He was just about to sink back into his chair when the phone rang again. And again. He stood deathly still, shoulders hunched against the sound before making his way back over and picking it up again.

"You know we can just show up if we wanted to, right?" Hastur asked.

"I am aware. The question is why don't you? And why have you waited this long to contact me?"

"We thought you'd come to us first."

"Well, I'm sorry," Aziraphale said with a dry chuckle. "Hell isn't really a premier vacation destination."

"...And why does that matter?"

The Fallen Angel sighed. "What do you want, Hastur? I do have better ways to occupy my time."

Hastur huffed. "Lord Beelzebub was impressed with your work after Armageddon. Pretty crafty for an Angel, they said."

"...I'm not sure if that was meant to be a complement."

"It's not, really. Both of you messed things up for everyone. But when Heaven found out about your little trick and informed us, we decided to make a deal to keep things easy. Gabriel got to deal with you and after Crowley's death, we would get his soul."

"I...I see. So, he's...with you?"

"That's the problem," Hastur spat. "We don't have him. Tricky bastards, who knows where they've stuffed him."

Aziraphale took another long swig, unsure if he should feel relieved or more concerned. "That is unfortunate. If you're contacting me about his whereabouts, however, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be of much service."

"That's not why we called."

"So what do you want, then?"

"Payment," Hastur said. Aziraphale could practically feel his glare through the phone. "We need your help settling this debt."

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale quipped. "I believe I've made it quite clear that I want nothing to do with your lot. I may not be Divine, but that certainly doesn't mean that I've fallen into demonhood."

"Of course you're not, you haven't touched the sulfur pools. Which is why Lord Beelzebub is offering this as a...temporary partnership. They think you still have access to Heaven since you aren't one of us."

"...Come again?"

"You're not a Demon yet. Just a different kind of Angel. That's how they explained it, anyway. So you can still go up there and pull Gabriel down for us."

"And why on Earth would I do that?"

"I heard about what he did," Hastur said, his voice low and honeyed with just a touch of temptation. "About how he was able to make Crowley human. Beat the celestial right out of him. Wouldn't you like to see him suffer? To hear his screams when he breaks like your partner did? Doesn't he deserve punishment for his cruelty?"

Aziraphale's mind shot back to the image of Crowley in the smoking golden cuffs, of the blood on his face, the grin on Gabriel's as he fell, and his grip on the phone tightened. "...I'm listening," he said.

"The details are being worked out. Think about it. You know where to find us when you make up your mind." 

Then the line went dead, leaving Aziraphale alone again with a bottle and the faint stench of rotting eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I just want to finish this, but school had me absolutely slammed. I'll probably be able to finish before the next semester, though.


	19. Commitment

Aziraphale stood in front of the door to his flat, unsure and unmoving aside from nervous picking at his melted wedding band. It had been a little over 3 months since he'd been inside. When Crowley had become too ill to live alone he'd changed it to be more comfortable for him, and after Crowley had been admitted Aziraphale rarely left the hospital. He could still remember the day he'd rushed his late husband there that final time, the panic when the coughing wouldn't stop,the fear flashing in Crowley's yellowed eyes. It was almost as if he was living it all over again. But it was time. There were things he needed to do if he was really going to go through with this, and he couldn't lay sulking on the couch for the rest of eternity. He just had to get through the door. He just had to take that first step.

With a sigh and a grimace, Aziraphale finally reached forward and opened the door. The air smelled stale, even compared to the rest of the shop. A few of the dresser drawers remained open, the bed was still unmade and a copy of Ender's Game lay haphazardly on the bedside table where Aziraphale had quickly set it aside, open to the last words he'd read before the worst had come. "We have to go," he said softly, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm almost happy here."

Voices echoed in the Fallen Angel's mind as he walked aimlessly about, shadows of conversations and events long past. It was almost too much. Almost.

He bit back his tears, squeezing his eyes tight as he breathed in, then out. In, then out. Then one final deep breath, forcing away the memories and the pain until they were nothing more than a faint, dull ache in his chest. Reminiscing wouldn't do him any good. He had a score to settle. Slowly and reverently, Aziraphale began tidying up the room. He could Will it clean, of course, but something about actively choosing to be present as he did so was, admittedly, a bit cathartic. So he cleaned and he straightened, dusted and organized until finally all evidence of that final day was gone. 

"Onto step two," he sighed. He took one of the scarves Crowley had acquired post-humanization and wrapped it around his neck. It didn't smell like him anymore, but Aziraphale knew it was the closest he'd get to be with his husband now; and if he was going to follow through with this meeting, he would need all the support he could get. So he took the scarf and strode out of the shop, shoulders hunched against the wind as he walked. It was an unfortunately dreary walk, the air heavy with the promise of a nearby storm, but Aziraphale couldn't help but give a dry chuckle at how appropriate it was. It didn't take long for him to reach his final destination, even though he hadn't been in a couple years. Even distracted as he was, his feet knew the way. 

For the second time today he stood completely still in front of a place he didn't want to enter, staring at the two escalators as he thought. Why did Hell need him to go and enact revenge on Gabriel for them? Demon's could still find their way into Heaven, it was just uncommon. Although, it would be problematic if that demon was found out. A proxy would keep another war from starting before they were prepared. Probably.

Aziraphale stared at the escalator to the underground. This was wrong, he thought, this is everything he wanted to avoid becoming. He should just turn and go back to the shop, try and adjust in a more healthy manor. But Hastur's words rang in his ears and Crowley's feeble image burned in his mind as his eyes narrowed. It would be like judgment, really. It wasn't right, what Gabriel did, and he needed to at least feel some iota of regret for the unholy mess he made. One can't simply go on trifling with other people's lives with no other reason than you being unable to control them. 

Yes. This was needed. But just this once.


	20. Wings over Troubled Water

Crowley soared through the Silver City, cackling and grinning as he passed it's wandering citizens in a blur and his inky black feathers reflected a rainbow of Heavenly light across their stunned faces. Oh, how he had missed this. The unparalleled freedom, the vitality of his celestial soul...and Love. He could feel it, more dim than before he Fell, but there it was. Undeniable and radiant as the first sunray of Spring. He'd have to ask about that later, but now? Right now he had more important things to do.

He rounded the final corner that would take him to the Celestial block, civilians in comfortable clothing no longer gawked as he passed and cobblestone streets shifted to cold linoleum. Even the Love here felt cold and tinny, not that he cared. He continued his flight, hearing his former siblings yelp in shock as they quickly dove out of the way. Eventually he heard the familiar sound of flapping wings as some began to give chase. But he thought he had it. He was quick and they were off guard.

He should have known better.

As Crowley rounded the final corner to the escalator room his flight came to a near screeching halt. Gabriel, Uriel, Michael and Sandalphon all stood at the exit, wings outstretched like the white clouded wall at the Gates. 

"Well well," Gabriel crooned, his tone as dry as his smile. "Look at you! You seem...happier."

Crowley landed as the Angels at his back finally caught up. "Let me through, Gabriel. You can't keep me here."

The Archangel laughed and began to step towards him. "Who said anything about keeping you here? We're just excited to finally have our brother back in the fold!" He reached forward, plucking one of Crowley's feathers. He winced as Gabriel inspected it and turned his nose up in disgust. "Even if it's only a...partial Redemption. For now, anyway."

"I don't think you really have a say in the quality of my Redemption," Crowley said. "After all, your boss approved it."

Gabriel sighed and dropped the feather. "She did, didn't she? I will admit, it's a little inconvenient. After all, we worked so hard to...tame that wild soul of yours. But Divine is Divine, and Her plan is ineffable."

"So why are you still in my way?"

"Because you're one of us again! There are protocols that have to be followed," he scoffed. "And we can't just let a newly minted Angel back down to Earth."

Crowley bristled, his wings flaring and small scales began to surface around his eyes and fingertips. He smirked as the Archangels' eyes all narrowed and the Angels behind him shuffled nervously.

"No need to make a scene, Star-raiser. Just put that away and we'll get this figured out, hm?"

"It's Crowley. You don't have a say here, Gabriel. Move. Aside."

Gabriel shook his head, hands clasped behind him as he stepped back towards the other. His violet eyes darkened, his smile curling with genuine excitement. "I'm afraid we can't do that. There's still too much Hell i-" then he froze, frowning as he and Michael both turned back towards the escalator. "...Do you feel that?"

"Yes," Michael said, drawing a gleaming golden hilted sword. "Unfortunately, I do."

Crowley felt it too, soft at first, but quickly becoming more and more powerful. A force of such tangled Love and Loathing, familiar and foreign all at once, was rocketing up the steps. He snarled and crouched, sharpened fingers leaving dull scratches in the floor below him as Gabriel began to bark orders to the gathered Host. Some of the lower ranking Angels scrambled to raise the alarm. The Archangels all drew their weapons, unsure if they should concern themselves more with Crowley or what was coming.

As it continued its ascend, raw and burning as the heavy smell of ash and sulfur blew in on the wind, Gabriel turned one final time; and for the first time since Lucifer himself had Fallen, Crowley could see the fear in his icy gaze.


	21. Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we've made it! Thank y'all for reading, hope you enjoyed!

Aziraphale was cold as he flew to Heaven. He could still feel their Love, tainted and metallic as it was, and he knew that they would probably feel him coming too. But he didn't care anymore. He had to do this, for Crowley, for himself, for every innocent Gabriel had made suffer in the name of righteousness. He shouldn't, he wouldn't be allowed to sit there in his linoleum palace, casting judgement for the sake of business. Not anymore. Aziraphale didn't know what this would do in the end. Afterall, he couldn't kill Gabriel. The Almighty would likely intervene. But something had to be done, and who better to do it than him? The Fallen Angel gritted his teeth and pressed on, his ashen grey feathers beating in the wind. 

There were many of them, aside from Gabriel and his posse, and they were moving. They'd sensed him. Good, he thought, at least that meant he wasn't completely Fallen yet. At least he hoped that was the case. But there was something else there, powerful and angry, in the center of the rest of the Angels. Something unexpected and familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Not that it mattered now. There were more important things to do.

The light grew ever brighter and Aziraphale flew ever quicker. He felt Gabriel, snarling as he locked onto the Archangel. This was it. Whatever happened to him, he couldn't go back. For his sake and for Crowley's, wherever he was now.

He crested the final step with the speed of vengeance itself, too quick even for Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon to react. By the time they knew what was happening Aziraphale had knocked Gabriel clear across the room, his fingers digging into the Archangel's throat as he pinned him to a window. It cracked, the impact vibrating through the deathly silent air. Gabriel's manicured fingers clawed at Aziraphale's hands and furious violet eyes glared down at him as he choked.

"Hello, Gabriel," Aziraphale said cooly. 

"Aziraphale!" He heard Michael call as they rocketed towards him. "By the order of the Almighty, I-" 

There was another impact and a cough as the air left Michael's lungs. But still Aziraphale didn't look back, at least, not until Gabriel's eyes widened. Suddenly there was a flurry of black feathers and needles in his shoulders as he was knocked to the ground. Shaking his head, he snarled up at whoever had forced him away from his goals...and froze. There, his face framed by a cascade of shoulder length crimson and highlighted with glittering black scales, was Crowley. His golden eyes stared down at him in disbelief and...sadness? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it snuffed every ounce of fire Aziraphale had dragged with him. "...Crowley?" He asked softly. "Crowley, is that...they didn't know were you ended up, and I thought...Oh. Oh, what am I doing?"

Crowley's eyes softened as Aziraphale's began to fill and he pulled the Fallen Angel up for an embrace. "It's all right, Aziraphale," he murmured.

Aziraphale buried his face into Crowley's shoulder, barely fighting back the flood of tears. He looked up just in time to see Michael slash forward with their sword, pushing Crowley just enough so the blow wasn't as serious as it could have been.

Crowley hissed in pain and whirled on Michael. "Can you not?" He snapped, grabbing Michael's wrist as they swung again. "We're having a moment here."

"Michael," Gabriel coughed as Uriel and Sandalphon helped him to his feet, glaring daggers at Crowley and Aziraphale. "Back down. There's an easier way to do this."

Michael sneered, their gaze darting between them and Gabriel before stepping back towards the entrance to reconvene with the other Archangels.

"Are you all right?" Aziraphale murmured to Crowley, glancing back as the thundering footsteps of the Host grew louder behind them. 

"I'll be fine. Stung more than it probably should have."

"Well, I don't think you're entirely Ethereal, my dear."

Crowley chuckled. "Probably not. But neither are you."

"Touche…I appear to have made a mess of things."

"I'd say. What were you doing, Aziraphale? You could have been killed, or worse."

Aziraphale picked at his ring. "I...suppose I wasn't thinking straight. But I really don't now is the time for this, Crowley."

"All right," Crowley sighed, turning back towards the muttering Archangels. "But we're not done with this."

Aziraphale nodded and ducked his head.

"This is admittedly unpleasant," Gabriel said coldly, glaring just past Crowley as the footsteps behind them stopped. Both Aziraphale and Crowley glanced back to find a squadron of armored Angels standing stoic and ready at a moment's notice. "But you continue to surprise me, Aziraphale. First you defy our eternal plan, marry a demon, and now forcing unauthorized entry into Heaven and directly attacking a high ranking member of the Host." His eyes narrowed. "It's almost as if you've given in to Hell's influence."

"I have not," Aziraphale snapped. "I came on my own terms. It's not my fault if they benefit from it as well," he added under his breath.

"So you acted in pure vengeance? Without even touching the sulfur pools?" Gabriel shook his head and tutted in disappointment as Uriel raised as sword and Sandalphon's hands lit in holy golden fire. "Sounds like demonic behavior to me. Face it, Aziraphale, you're lost. A wildcard. A danger to older as we know it!" He smirked. "t would be irresponsible to let you continue on this path."

"You don't have to," Crowley said. "That's my job. Orders from the Almighty herself."

"Your job?"

"Yeah. I tried to tell you idiots, but you're too bloody full of yourselves to give a damn."

Gabriel scoffed. "And what can you do? You're just a Demon with enough grace to think you're an Angel. You're both useless."

Crowley shrugged, reaching down to take Aziraphale's hand. "Think what you like, Gabe, but orders are orders. And you wouldn't want to piss off Mommy dearest, would you? Think of the paperwork."

Gabriel snarled and raised a finger. The Archangels stepped forward and the sound of a hundred unsheathed swords rang in the air, but as Crowley and Aziraphale stiffened the room suddenly shook.

The ever present glow of Heaven dimmed and the clouds outside grew dark and turbulent. A thousand whispers flew through the room, cutting the air like frozen steel in a way they hadn't for millenia. The Angels, unnerved and unsure now, knelt to the ground as a voice rose just above the din.

"Gabriel," She said, soft and disappointed. "You would block my emissary from their task?"

He stared up at the ceiling, his face carefully masked. "I...I didn't mean to offend, my Lord. Just...following protocol. I was unsure if they spoke the truth."

"You should learn to trust more, my child. Afterall, they are your siblings."

"How?" Gabriel asked with a sneer. "They're not Angel's! They're Fallen!"

"Not quite. Let them pass, Gabriel. Unless you think your judgment is more sound than mine?"

Gabriel ground his teeth. "...no, my Lord."

"Good." The whispers began to dim and the walls began to brighten again. "I suggest you come visit me. We have much to discuss."

"Of course."

Then, just as quickly as it had entered, Her presence was gone once more.

"...I do believe that that was our invitation to leave," Aziraphale said, smirking up at Crowley.

"I would say it was," he laughed.

Gabriel looked like he was ready to burst as he stared icy daggers at the pair. "...go," he said through clenched teeth, his lips curling into one last dry smile. "Enjoy your freedom. We'll be waiting."

"I'm sure you will," Aziraphale said as they walked towards the escalator. "Oh! And one more thing." He turned just before they got on and pulled Crowley down for a kiss that absolutely longer than necessary, relishing in the taste of smoke, spice and pure, unfiltered Love. He smiled as Gabriel sputtered in disgust. "I missed you, my dear."

Crowley stared down at him with blown pupils and the widest, most joyful grin Aziraphale had ever seen. "I missed you too, Angel. Let's go home, Angel."


End file.
